


Siren

by NotSoSirius92



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Transfiguration (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23124757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSoSirius92/pseuds/NotSoSirius92
Summary: He keeps returning, to see her. Or maybe him. Maybe he doesn't care why.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 26
Kudos: 44
Collections: 2020 DBQ Round One: Transfiguration





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DBQ2020Round1](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DBQ2020Round1) collection. 



> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me but are the property of J.K.R. and Warner Bros. No copyright infringement is intended. The theme for this round of the competition was Transfiguration and my chosen pairing was Harry Potter/Theodore Nott.Comments/Reviews are encouraged by The Slytherin Cabal's Admin Team on all stories in Death By Quill, but comments left by readers are set to be moderated by story authors until the end of the competition in order to protect participants' anonymity. Thank you to my beta for their time and help.

Harry had promised himself he wouldn’t come back to this place. 

And yet, here he was - standing in front of an inconspicuous back door with no identifying markers, in a dingy alley in central London. The alleyway itself was dimly lit with rubbish littered about. There was a group of Muggles at the end, huddled around a fire, their greasy faces lit with delight as they passed around a bottle of whatever booze they’d managed to pilfer for the night. 

A doorman opened the door after a single heavy-handed knock alerted him to Harry’s presence, and the gruff man allowed him in only when the sack of Galleons rested on his hip. 

The hallway he was led through was wrought with Victorian Era drapery that wouldn’t have looked out of place in one of those Muggle vampire novels. They were thick and omnipresent, and smelled slightly of mothballs, though Harry had initially been surprised that such things even existed in the Wizarding World. 

He went immediately to the bar where a curvaceous curly haired witch awaited him with a coy smirk on her lips. 

“Back again, Harry?”

“ ‘Lo, Susan,” Harry nodded in greeting. “Business is still booming, I see?”

She looked around the crowded room with a sly smile on her face. Her eyes were hard still. “It’s a new world, Harry. Sometimes I wish things were different. But everyone needs to escape somehow, and I can’t afford to turn down the coin.”

She flipped her hair before sliding him his time card and tumbler of ale, her hips swishing languidly as she turned her attention to other patrons. He remembered her as a child, bright eyes and innocent. She hadn’t any steel in her blood then. 

War changed people that way, Harry supposed, and in this post-apocalyptic world you either adapted or you perished. 

Susan was also right, Harry mused while looking around. Transfiguration bars were few and far between, only barely above legal, and the hottest commodity to come out of the third wizarding war. With over a third of the population being decimated, people clamored to these swanky joints for a little time with their lost loved ones. It was a bit disorienting at first, seeing the face of someone he knew was dead, up walking to and from the bar, grabbing drinks before returning to whatever hidden alcove they’d been paid to perform in. 

It wasn’t a gentleman's club, not really. Sirens Song was a little slice of hell, dressed up as heaven. In this club, reality faded away until you stepped away from it’s doors. Harry took a glance at his time card, noting that he was scheduled for his usual two hour slot, in room C3 - a VIP-esque lounge on the topmost floor of the facility. This was where Susan had told him she placed her high-rollers. Whether they war-hardened heroes or criminals, she didn’t care so long as they played nice in the hallways and kept her till full of Galleons. He passed a very much animated Fred Weasley, who had perished in the Battle of Hogwarts, and knew that George was around here, somewhere. 

Harry couldn’t stop the painful tug at seeing the copycat - for he also missed Fred terribly. But Fred’s ghost was not whom he came to see tonight. He paused at the door labeled C3 and took a steadying breath before inching a shaking hand towards the door handle and turning it. 

The room was lit by a single chandelier, casting rainbows across the furniture as well as the platform it was situated above. 

Harry took his customary seat, not yet looking towards the center of the room, and took a long pull of his drink before finally, letting his eyes make their way upward towards the stage. 

She was there, as always. Flaming red hair cascaded down her back as she danced around, slow and sensual - if not a bit stiff. Harry was always amazed at how the imposter copied her features down to the exact freckle, and how they’d managed to capture the honey tones in her otherwise spectacularly brown eyes. 

Even the scar on her chin she’d received from a wayward bludger once, all there, all perfected. 

She moved and swayed to a hypnotic beat and Harry was entranced. The imposter knew not to touch him, no. That would be crossing a line that Harry could not come back from, and so he watched, feeling the numbness of the alcohol he drank permeating his senses. 

After a while, the music stopped, and the Ginny imposter made their way to the seat next to him, sitting casually and turning to face him. 

“I thought I wouldn’t see you again.”

It was disconcerting, Harry thought, hearing a deep timbre coming through Ginny’s soft lips. 

“I wasn’t going to come back.” And then after a beat, “can I see  _ you,  _ please?”

The imposter sighed, and withdrawing a long elm wand, waved it in a wide arch. 

Slowly, red hair shortened and darkened to a coal black. Brown eyes faded into piercing blue. A soft jawline hardened and angled. Feminine curves melted into hard, masculine planes. 

Harry’s quick intake of breath was his only response to the change. 

He remembered the first time he’d stepped into this room. The first time he’d laid eyes on his new addiction. He’d asked a rather stupid question that left the imposter staring at him incredulously. 

_ “Why can’t you use Polyjuice instead?” _

_ “You can’t use it if they’re dead.” _

The man sitting before him had managed to captivate him in ways that were disturbing. Maybe because he was Harry’s only link to his lost love, or maybe because Theodore made him question his motives for coming here now, after so long, after the point where grieving should have lessened. Maybe it was both. 

Harry just knew that Theo filled in the missing pieces of his soul, like a balm on burned skin, and Harry couldn’t stop no matter how hard he tried. 

Theo observed him quietly, allowing the other man to make his adjustments before they continued on with the routine they’d developed over the last several months. Theo couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Potter. The man had changed drastically from his moralistic school days, and Theo was drawn to the darkened look in Potters startling green eyes. 

There was a depth there that Theo couldn’t escape. 

“So,” Harry said casually after a few minutes of their silent observations, “how are you?”

“Small talk, Potter?” Theo let out a light laugh. “Really?”

Harry shrugged. 

“I figured after the last time, you were done with this. With me.” There was a desperately hopeful tone to Theo's voice that made Harry ache to reassure him. 

The last time they’d been together had irrevocably changed the tone of their transactions. 

_ “I don’t want to be someone else when I’m with you.” Theos lips brushed against his neck. Harry shivered.  _

_ “I can’t.” _

“Things haven’t changed, really,” Harry admitted, and watched as Theo’s eyes dimmed slightly. “But I’ve found that it’s impossible to stay away from you anymore.”

Blue eyes met green. Theo took a shuddering breath, taking Harry’s strong hands within his own and gripping them tightly. 

“Then stop trying.” 

Fin.


	2. 2

_ Several months prior to chapter 1.  _

The road to hell was paved with good intentions. 

Whatever tosser came up with that saying deserved a punch in their bloody gob. 

Good intentions were subjective, much like the people that practiced them. Voldemort and some of his most loyal followers could not be said to be anything other than evil, but most of his minions were various shades of gray. On the flip side of that coin, Harry no longer could be said to bleed red and gold these days. He was quicker to slay an enemy than to gain a potential ally. 

Again, war changes people. Long gone were the days where his signature spell was a simple disarming charm. Voldemort learned that the hard way when Harry ripped the last remaining bit of soul from his body and fed it to a dementor. 

Time passes in painful lurches and dull waves. But pass, it does. 

The first time Harry Potter had entered Siren was a rainy Monday. Nothing unusual, as London was a typically dreary place to begin with. 

He’d been toddering about Diagon Alley the week prior to entering the club, aimlessly wandering past the groups of people assigned to do their duty to help restore the once monumental establishments. To Harry, it seemed to be a lost cause. 

Post-War was not the peaceful existence many had hoped for. As a matter of fact, it was a barren wasteland, filled with shattered dreams and the remnants of half living souls that loved ones had left behind. 

One such soul could be seen boarding up the windows outside of his shop - a dingy sign on the door saying “closed indefinitely.” The store, like most others in Diagon, was barely recognizable after Death Eaters marched on the ally for the first time, all those long months ago. 

The brightly colored automated wizard that sat atop the shop had long since been singed after multiple death eater attacks, and whatever magic kept that rabbit disappearing had withered away, much like the sole proprietor of the shop himself. 

George Weasley looked as lifeless as Harry felt. Losing Fred and Ginny had destroyed him, and Harry knew the only reason he hadn’t joined his twin in the afterlife was because his mother had forced him into an Unbreakable Vow to prevent it. Molly was inconsolable at the loss of two of her children, one more would be her breaking point. 

“George,” Harry said by way of greeting, not taking offense when the red-head only gave a short nod in greeting. George wasn’t much of a conversationalist these days. 

They exchanged small talk, George mentioned he had to meet Lee Jordan at some new establishment in Knockturn, and Harry mildly ambled around for a few more hours. 

He, himself, could not think of much to live for. Ginny, the love of his life, was gone. Sirius and Remus, the last link to his parents were gone. Dumbledore, who had all of the answers, was gone. Hell, even Snape was gone. They were all so far out of reach that he sometimes wondered if he’d imagined them all. But then, this ache couldn’t be a figment of his imagination. They were real, even if they were outside of his fingertips. 

He stopped at Gringotts, to withdraw a small fortune for his trip. Yes, he’d thought a vacation away from Magical Britain would be nice. Somewhere where people didn’t automatically know the Boy-Who-Lived. Where ghosts didn’t haunt him. 

Maybe he’d invite Hermione and Ron, though, the thought of those two being sickeningly in love in front of him was less than appealing. 

Huh. Maybe it’d best be a solo trip. It wasn’t like they hadn’t spent the better part of a year on the run together. Space was warranted. 

Amidst his musings and aimless wanderings, Harry had lost track of time. So unfocused as he was, he was mightily surprised when a red blur ran into him with the force of a bludger. 

“Ow! Bloody hell, watch where you’re-- George! What’s wrong?” The remaining Weasley Twins face was indecipherable, but it immediately had Harry reaching for his wand and scoping out potential threats and exits. When he found none, he relaxed his stance. 

“George, you look off. What happened?”

“Harry, I saw him. It was as though he were actually here. It was the best experience I’ve had since he lived. It's indescribable.”

“Err, George. What are you talking about?”

“Fred! I saw Fred!”

Suddenly a knot formed in Harry's stomach, and concern for his friend marred his features. George's eyes were alight, and his face was flushed, and Harry finally realized that the misplaced expression he’d earlier couldn’t identify was blazing in front of him: Hope. 

Hope was a dangerous thing to have these days. 

“George,” Harry said, gently. “Fred is gone. You know this. You’ve been talking to your Mind Healer, right? You’re supposed to go twice a week and if your Mum finds out you’ve been missing appointments and I didn’t tell her she’ll have my arse--”

“Harry, I’m not crazy,” George interrupted. “I know Fred-” George stumbled over his name- “is gone. But I can still see him. Obviously it’s not really him, but it feels like he was sitting right there next to me. And we talked, and I could tell him how sorry I was.”

“How did you see him?” Harry asked sceptically. 

“You’ve heard of that new bar in Knockturn Alley, right?” 

Harry nodded, and before he could say a word, George was dragging him through the maze of wizards and witches, and down into the darkened cobblestone paths that he’d gotten lost in so many years ago. 

Knockturn Alley had fared well during Voldemort's reign. Most of these shops and inns catered to the seedier population, and so were left to their own devices provided they pledged their allegiance to the at-the-time corrupted Ministry. 

Surprisingly, there was one singular shop that was lit up, with a line of people wrapping around the corner. However, George made no move to get in the line itself, and instead went straight to the door man. 

“Oi! Back o’ tha’ line, Ginger. Yoo’ve already had ya tern.” A beefy hand came to rest on George Weasley's forearm, and Harry's hand fingered his wand. 

“Aye, you’re right Fergus. But are you really going to make the Chosen One wait at the back of the line? Need I remind ya who defeated You-Know-Who?”

George gave Harry a meaningful look as though to say “shut it!” and the huge doorman took in the sight of Harry, signature scar in place and deadened eyes - and his own widened in shock, and maybe a bit of fear. 

“Alrigh’, alrigh’ but ‘ow was I suppose’ ta know tha’ we had tha’ bleedin’ savior o’ the world enterin’ into such a lowly place?”

The doorman waved his hand after George passed him a sack of Galleons and the two men entered into the club. Susan Bones was rushing to greet him, and began to explain the concept and the patronage. 

When she finished she pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s cheek. He turned to George, in the reflection from the redhead’s eyesHarry saw his own green eyes - alight with that same anticipatory gleam he’d first seen as George ran into him. 

“This changes everything.”

  
  



End file.
